


Your Father Is Wise

by gentlemanadventurer



Series: Strike That/Reverse It [2]
Category: Hänsel und Gretel | Hansel and Gretel (Fairy Tale)
Genre: Child Abuse, Fairy Tale Retellings, Witches, backwards fairy tale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-28 17:16:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11422530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gentlemanadventurer/pseuds/gentlemanadventurer
Summary: A fairy tale told backwards. The Hansel and Gretel edition.





	Your Father Is Wise

Home is not home. Your father pours salt into your tea and, smiling, calls it sugar. You drink your brother’s tea before it can hurt him. He is too young. He should not have to taste it.

 _Do not go into the forest_ , your father tells you, patting you on the head. _The forest is dangerous for little girls._ So you pace along the treeline, peering into the green shadows. It smells of pine and wet. There is dappled sunlight and you can hear birds. It does not look dangerous. It looks like everything you ever wanted and it makes your feet and fingers itch.

But your father is wise. You know this because he tells you so. He has plenty of money and you are well-shod and looked after. Your clothing is clean and of fine quality. You only cry when your father cannot see you. He does not like the mess of tears or the way it makes your nose run. And so when he tells you it is dangerous, you listen.

There is a shining white stone at the edge of the forest, near that gnarled old apple tree. Two feet deeper, there is another. And beyond that, another. They lead into the woods in a path that seems almost to glow. _Do not go into the forest_. But one day, it is too much. Lacing your boots tightly, you take a deep breath and you follow the path. You take your brother. To leave him behind would be unthinkable.

(a magpie cocks its head and peers at you. you smile at it.)

In the brush you see the russet flash of a fox before it bolts away. The stones are sometimes close together, sometimes far apart, but there is always another one, leading you deeper into the forest. The shadows lengthen as the sun begins to drop. You wonder if your father is looking for the two of you. Your brother thinks this is a grand adventure. You don’t have the heart to tell him that the proper phrase for it is “running away.”

The scent of roasting meat makes you lift your head. Your brother springs forward and you chase after him, noting vaguely that the scent is only pulling you further down the path. It leads to a house more beautiful than you could have imagined. It looks like spun sugar, in colors you never thought a house could be. The windows are lit with a merry glow. You hesitate. Your father’s voice in your head is clear: _the forest is dangerous for little girls._

Your brother knocks before you can stop him.

The woman is old, but her eyes are bright and young. The woman is young, but her eyes are calm and old. She is both and, like the colors of the house, you did not think a woman could look like that. She notices the way you study her face and smiles. _I’ve been waiting_ , she says, and lets you both inside. _I wondered how long you’d be._

She feeds you both and days slip away before you even realize you’ve decided to stay. The house is small and sweet. In the loft, she has piled blankets where you sleep with your brother. In the corner of the kitchen is an iron cage. It hangs from the ceiling on a heavy chain and your brother likes to sit in it and swing. You ask the woman about it and she is sad-happy and old-young and tired-excited and lonely-loving all at once. _There are dangers out there._

 _The forest is dangerous for little girls,_ you say without thinking and she shakes her head.

_There are dangers in the forest, and there are dangers among men. There are those who would hurt you if you let them. I decided long ago that I would not let anyone hurt me. What you decide is up to you._

You start to cry and turn away. Tears are messy. Tears are bad. Warm fingers brush your chin and turn your head back towards the fire. _Never be ashamed of tears_ , the witch says. You realize what she is with the touch of her hand, but you are not afraid. _Tears are power. One day, child, you will see the ocean. Your tears are like the sea; they are both more and less than they seem._

 _Like you,_ you say. She laughs and nods.

She teaches.

You learn.

Time passes. Your brother misses home, but settles in with relative ease. The food is good, the woods are exciting, and he has always had a way with animals. You labor over the stove and oven, the cage swinging in the corner of your vision. You struggle through the books and papers, you learn the plants, you learn the poisons. You recite after her, murmuring words under your breath that make your skin tingle and your hands grow hot. You think of home, of salt and locked doors and warnings and hidden tears, and you weep openly.

She is right. It is freeing. Your words come stronger after the tears wash you clean.

And one day, you hear of a man in the forest. He is looking for his children, he tells anyone he finds: a boy and a girl.

You will not let him take your brother. You will not let him hurt you. For the first time since you entered the forest, you lace up your old boots and smooth your skirts. Your hair curls over your shoulder and you practice wide, shining eyes and a tentative smile in the mirror.

He is near the beautiful house when you find him. _Where is your brother?_

 _Gone,_ you tell him. Your voice shakes and you let your eyes fill with tears that make your eyes shine but do not make the mess of real emotion he doesn’t like. _The forest and its creatures are dangerous. Like little girls._ He extends a hand and you take it, obediently.

 _…for little girls_ , he corrects, squeezing your fingers painfully tight. _I’m taking you home and we will talk._

You smile over your shoulder into the forest as you leave.


End file.
